Hollow Winter
by Savybards
Summary: This is an alternative universe where Arya is murdered by Joffrey at the trident. Story start at the beginning of the Long winter, with Dany's landing at the same time. Focused on the War of The Others.


** This is my first attempt on writing a fan fiction, so please be as judgmental as you can, feed back would be really appreciated :)**

** And many thanks to pygmypuff8 for Beta'ing! **

* * *

***Prologue***

A cat dashed down the dark alley as a hooded figure passed by, a hilt of a curved dagger, with the symbol of the House Black and White, barely visible under its cloak. The faceless acolyte suddenly stopped by an abandoned barrow, lifting its hood ever so slightly, revealing the soft jawline and delicate nose of a girl, her pale skin contrasting deeply with the pitch-black color of her cloak. The nose wrinkled, as she seemed to be picking up the scent of her next prey.

The girl was not on a mission; the girl was troubled by the sense of something vaguely familiar—a piece of memory that belonged to a ghost from four years ago, located somewhere in the city right now. A burden, which she needs found and finished off, if she, truly, wants to become faceless.

The girl still didn't understand why the kindly man had repeatedly refused her request to perform the final trail, even after he had claimed she was the brightest student among the current apprentices. Certainly, another girl who had once lived a life inside her was dead, since she had drank the water from the fountain.

Although still well into the day, the heat of Braavos that was once so fierce was now dwindling. Sunlight wearily shone onto the gigantic statue of the Titan that guarded the city. Days became cool with chilly breeze blown across the Narrow Sea; more people could be seen in the ports and harbors every day, causing the city to buzz with tales from other lands. The girl assumed that these people were escaping the rumored long winter that would bring death and despair to the Seven Kingdoms.

Minutes later, the figure lowered its pitch-black hood once again, resumed its path, and passed.

It just had sensed the object it sought not far away, in the grand market near the Purple Harbor.

In the mean time, the cat reappeared from the shadows somewhere in the city, whiskers bloodied, with a dead mouse dangling in its jaw; its glimmering grayish, almost silvery eyes, trailed the motion of a figure, a man, selling a particular, almost tiny, rapier.

Those eyes were emotionless, cold, unforgiving. Just like the imminent winter.

* * *

"The wall is near!"

A group of seven men on horsebacks, all of whom were dressed in tattered black, seemed to be running away from something among the gigantic trunks of the ancient pinewoods; men panting like their horses due to constantly whipping the poor beasts. Yet, going slower, their fate could be much worse.

It's surprising that they had made it out from camp, although a short man was holding his arm where a gash bled profusely, a glare of color as it landed on the stark white of snow.

Satin of the Night Watch turned his face back to where they had been just moments ago. Several staggering figures of bluish-grey could barely be seen from this distance, yet the speck of blue where their eyes glowed like an icy fire, seemed to look straight into his soul. He signaled with a gesture to warn others that the wrights have increased their speed.

"Faster, they're closing in!"

The head of the group-a young man, called out again. Just pass his twenty-first name day; the man had a sterner and more commanding look than usual at his age, making his features more prominent, with a hint of a beard dusting his cheeks.

Jon Snow, no, Jon Targaryen now it is, for the first time in his life, felt truly cold, much colder than his last experience with death itself. A bone-chilling cold that delved deep into his very soul. He felt lucky that Ghost had scented the attack, and alarmed them before the raid, or else he could be now facing hundreds of men who should have been lying in their graves.

Yet the true terror is their manipulators, the blue-eyed, humanoid creatures, the bringers of Night and death,

The White Walkers.

Through the shades of the branch and leaves, the men of the Night's Watch could finally make a faint outline of gigantic glacial blue. Hearts beating fast, all of them tightened the reign to gain more speed, trying to cover the ground to the end of their journey as fast as they could. The wood was so silent—not even the crows could be heard cawing their crass cries. The only indication that all of them were not deaf was the sound of the hooves pounding the hard-packed snow, which caused several small creatures to scurry away for sanctuary.

Eventually, to the men's joy, the feelings of coldness started to fade; the danger had been outraced. His teeth finally stopping their chattering, a short Ranger with a mousy face let out a sigh of relief as he managed to stop chattering his teeth.

The group, reaching the tree line, was greeted by a clearing, while not far of was the entrance of the tunnel to the other side of the wall.

Another man at Jon's side, loosened the horn hanging at his side, and blew three blasts, alerting the guards, once free folks, that they were back and they open the gate.

As the gate slowly lifted up, men scurried through on their horses back, back to their safety on the other side of the wall.

Although it wouldn't be for long.

* * *

Sansa, not as Alayne, felt as if the world were lost to her. The cold night air from the north passed through the Moon door, causing her body to convulse in an involuntary shiver. Aunt Lysa had played her like a chess piece again. She would be wedding Harrold Hardyng, against her own will, in days, so that Lysa could fortify her claim over the Vale, or, more likely, selling her away to earn trust of the potential trouble she would bring once her identity is revealed.

No, she wasn't lost to the world; it was the world that had betrayed her. One jump from the Moon Door would end all the madness going on.

Sansa bit her pale lips as she recalled how everything started to go wrong,

It had all started at Arya's death at the Trident.

_Sansa could still remember the day she found out what a monster Joffrey really is, when he murdered her sister as she tried to prevent him from hurting the butcher's boy. The helplessness in her sister's eyes as she squirmed on the other point of the blade, blood soaking her blue shirt, the memory of which could make her heart ache and bring tears to her eyes even till now. She didn't even have a chance to properly apologize or say good-bye to Arya when Joffrey, smirking, dragged her unconscious form and dumped her into the river._

_If only they didn't chain Nymeria back at Winterfell with Lady…_

_He threatened Mycah and Sansa, by growling out that if they dare tell anyone what had happened, they would meet the same fate as Arya. His face now seemed so disgusting that she felt a wave of nausea, remembering the regard she once held for him. Sansa had bitten her tongue to prevent herself from pouring vile words onto the prince's disdainful face._

Yet, She wished she hadn't.

_Later that day when they were back at the Royal campsite, Joffrey excused himself by making up a lie of them meeting a group of vagabonds, and that Arya was slayed when she tried to protect them from the threat._

_She bristled in rage, as the prince shed a tear himself in order to make the story sound convincing. She knew it was all lies, and that if mind reading was possible, as the Old Nan had once mentioned, he was laughing hysterically inside. Father couldn't take the idea that one of his beloved daughters was so easily taken away from him. King Robert seemed stunned and teary as well as he patted his old friend, while roaring at Joffrey for being a coward and letting a little girl fight his battles for him._

_Sansa still remembered how tightly her father had held her, bawling. Arya's death had opened up another painful memory of his, like a flesh wound. He kept hoarsely muttering apologies for the two girls he loved and held dear in his life, both of them dead before their time._

_She had never seen her father so broken before._

_A search party for Arya's body was led that day, but they only found a patch of dried blood by the riverside of the Trident, yet enough to prove of a young girl's certain death in the wild._

_Sansa send two ravens that night, one for her mother, and one for Jon. She only revealed the truth to Jon, as she knew that Jon held her sister dearly and was safely ensconced at the wall, too far away for trouble and spilling out his rage._

_Fat, heavy tears had dripped onto the parchment, soaking the ink, making some letters unrecognizable._

_Although Sansa always quarrel with Arya, she never hated her. No, it was just another form of sisterly love._

_Losing her sister was like losing another part of her life._

_From that day on Father changed; although still retaining his place as the Hand of the King, he became mirthless and solemn. Only alone with his one remaining daughter, did his gloomy mood lift. Also, he seemed to hold a particular grudge against the Lannisters, especially the royal prince._

_A month later, her mother came to the capital, accusing the Lions for both for Bran's fall and Arya's death. As Sansa had feared, her mother had figured out that Joffrey was responsible for her daughter's death._

_Vengeance generated by maternal love had driven her mad enough to attempt assassinating the prince._

_Both Lord Petyr Baelish and her mother, Lady Catelyn Stark, were executed at The Sept Baelor. One found guilty for plotting against the crown prince, and the other found taking action. It had been King Robert who had persuaded Queen Cersei to not declare war upon the north, and execute her father as well._

_Mother's death finally broke Eddard, which caused him to give up his place as the Hand and leaving for the Night Watch._

_Mace Tyrell became the new hand._

_Then, a massacre took place right after Robert died of an infection. The whole party that had come along with her father, which he didn't bring back to Winterfell after he had taken the Black, was brutally murdered. Fortunately, the Spider had managed smuggle her through a secret passage and sent her to the Vale, under the protection of her aunt Lysa Arryn._

_Then, Robb Stark, her brother, as King of the North declared war upon the Lannisters. Although no one knew where she truly was at that time, besides Lord Varys and her aunt, Lord Tywin had let it be known that they had her in captivity._

_And then, when she thought she had seen the shimmering hopes in the darkness when she heard Robb had taken the land all the way to the Neck, a hammer landed a blown heavily upon her heart._

_The red wedding…_

_Recalling the night from four years ago, Sansa felt her will to live drain away rapidly. She leaned closer to the edge, feeling the pull of the roaring, bone-chilling wind. The landscape beneath still looked so distant._

But then, with a jolt, she pulled herself back again. For the Alayne that took up most of her consciousness now, told Sansa, the broken little girl, to be strong. She peeked down again, recalling a line that held much of her strength.

Winter is coming.


End file.
